“I know,” Lissa said. “That’s why Finn’s offer is nice. He doesn’t have to give you a better option, but he’s doing it anyway. Some appreciation is in order. If not…” Lissa swept her hand toward the door as she let her ultimatum trail off.
Finn rubbed his temples. He was about to cut in when Sally turned and looked at him, biting her bottom lip. “Thank you,” she said.
Finn just stared at her. Then he looked with incredulity at Lissa. After a moment he turned back to Sally. “You’re welcome,” he said.
“Good,” Lissa said. She looked at Finn. “You’ve got a dozen messages on your desk, and your voice mail is full. It’s gonna take an hour or more to deal with whatever’s there. I have some things that I gotta take care of, too. Sally can use the time to do whatever work she has.” Sally blinked at her. “You do have homework, I assume?”
“I guess.”
“Good. Then, when we’re all ready, I’ll take us to dinner.”
“You don’t need to,” Finn said. “I can feed her at my place.”
“On what? Ketchup? I’ve seen your refrigerator.”
“I’ve got more than ketchup,” Finn said.
“Yeah? What else?”
“Mustard and relish,” Sally answered before Finn could respond. He looked at her. “And something in an old Chinese takeout carton that’s growing feet. I was hungry last night,” she said. “I looked.”
“Did you check the cupboard?” he asked.
“I’ll make some reservations,” Lissa said. “An hour?”
Kozlowski was walking back into the office from the hallway. His hair was tousled but dry. “What’s in an hour?”
“Dinner,” Lissa said. “I’m buying.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Just thought everyone could use a good meal,” Lissa said.
“Ah,” Kozlowski said knowingly. “Someone looked in Finn’s refrigerator.”
“It wasn’t pretty,” Sally said.
“I think I liked you better when you were less grateful and more sullen,” Finn said to her.
“An hour,” Lissa said again. Finn looked at her and nodded. Then he went to his desk and started digging out from the messages and mail that had piled up during his daylong absence from the office.
Liam sat in a rented van parked on the square a half block down from Finn’s office. There was a newspaper in front of him, opened to the sports section. Liam didn’t follow any American sports, but he wasn’t looking at the paper. He was watching the door to the lawyer’s office. He’d been there for more than an hour, waiting. He’d passed by the place once, determining that it was empty. He’d scouted the area, getting an idea for the layout. There was a back door to the little office, but it didn’t look as if it saw much use. He assumed they would be entering from the front. The square was the best spot from which to observe. It was close enough to get a good look at the building, but far enough away that he wouldn’t draw too much attention. It was near a small row of stores; in the rain and cold, he didn’t look too far out of place. The van was a nondescript white delivery vehicle, dappled with patches of rust and textured with dents from hard use. The interior was stripped to the metal, rippled and grungy, with pockets of moisture bordering on small puddles that seemed never to dry no matter what the weather. He could have been waiting to pick up or deliver just about anything.
The woman showed up with the girl about a half hour after he’d settled in with the paper and a cup of coffee. When he saw them enter the brownstone, he double-checked the address. They looked like a mother and daughter, but that didn’t fit with his information.
The two men arrived twenty minutes later. It was clear which one was the lawyer. The younger one was thin and tall, and dressed in an expensive suit. He carried a leather case with him, and he had a serious look on his narrow face. The man with him looked nothing like a lawyer. He was solid and older, and his thin overcoat flapped around the calves of his cheap slacks. He moved deliberately, and his head swung from side to side, taking in everything around him. He reminded Liam of many survivors of the troubles on both sides. They were quiet, serious men. They were the men he worried about coming up against.
He’d done enough background to identify the adults. Finn, Kozlowski, Krantz. He knew their names and ages and roles in the tiny little firm that was representing Devon Malley. They all had solid reputations, but they were in over their heads.
The girl was a surprise. Liam didn’t like surprises. Her presence at the office might mean nothing. She might be a niece or the daughter of a friend who had errands to run. And yet he had this feeling-an intuition-that there was more to it than that. A lifetime had taught him never to ignore his intuitions. Very often they came from that deep spot in the brain that noticed something the conscious mind had missed. He’d learned that paying attention to his intuition could save his life.
He leaned back into the car seat to mull things over. Information was the most valuable commodity in any profession; more so in Liam’s than others. It was clear that he needed more of it now.
The restaurant was a huge family-style place in Charlestown. Only a glass partition separated the diners from an open kitchen with wood-burning stoves. The patrons could watch their meals being prepared, and it gave the place a sense of intimacy. It was the kind of restaurant that required connections or a three-month wait for a reservation on a weekend night. Midweek, though, it was merely bustling, and determination was all that was required to get a table on a walk-in basis.
The four of them were sitting at a table near the middle of the restaurant. It was a big, round, heavy oak slab, finished unevenly to maintain the rustic feel of the place. It could have seated eight, and with just the four of them, they had to keep their voices up to hear each other over the din.
Not that it mattered through much of the evening; the conversation was spotty. Finn, Kozlowski, and Lissa usually talked about their work when they ate; it was a time when they could fret over their most pressing cases. That night, however, their most pressing case concerned the father of the girl who was sitting directly across from Finn. He couldn’t discuss the case openly, but he couldn’t get it out of his head, either.
“How was school?” he asked at one point, trying to break the awkward silence that had settled over the table.
Sally looked up, surprised. “It sucked,” she said after a moment.
“Why?” Finn asked.
“It’s school. School sucks.”
“What sucks about it?” Finn continued.
She twirled some pasta onto her fork and stuffed the mess into her mouth. “You really wanna know?” she asked as she chewed.
“Yeah,” Finn said. “What grade are you in?”
“Eighth,” she said.
“Okay, eighth grade,” Finn said. “What sucks about eighth grade? Do you have any friends?”
“Not really,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because the kids are assholes. Why would I want more assholes in my life? I got all I can handle.”
Finn winced. He’d grown up on the street, but the disparity between the girl’s age and her demeanor was still unsettling. Most people didn’t master cynicism until at least their late teens. “How about the schoolwork?” Finn asked. “Do you like that at all?”
Sally laughed. “It’s an inner-city school; there is no real schoolwork. If you’re not stabbing someone, you’re an honor student as far as the teachers are concerned.”
“Do you learn anything?”
She shrugged. “I learn what I want to learn.”
“What’s that?”
She pushed the food around on her plate. “I like reading,” she said at last. “English class is okay. The teacher is a joke, but I like the books.”
“What are you reading?”
“Right now? The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” she said grudgingly.
“Good book. You like that one?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
She looked him in the eye. “Because he’s a kid and he takes care of himself. He doesn’t need other people to survive and he doesn’t take any shit.”